Last night our cat, Gizmo, went to a veterinary hospital in Bradford to have an anaesthetic in order to have her teeth cleaned (they were starting to go a bit manky) and, about half an hour ago, I found out that she may not survive the procedure if she has it done. She’s been on a drip through the night to get fluids but they’ve now said they might not be able to do anything for her due to her age and condition.
That’s the last thing I needed to hear after going to a funeral this morning. This news has hit me hard and, coupled with the fact that the funeral was for a family friend, I’m actually quite devastated about it. Gizmo (see the photo above) has been a part of my life for the last ten years or so and I’m in tears thinking that my flatmate may well be bringing a dead cat back from Bradford with him.
I have no more words. I’m actually starting to well up again just typing this.